


The Woods are Lovely, Dark, and Deep

by Helholden



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, F/M, Pagan Gods, Possession, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On her way back to the castle, Mary’s carriage is ambushed by brigands on the road. She slips away into the woods, running for her life, and ends up in the company of a familiar face she thought had been shipped off to Spain. Post 1x13 canon divergence with the Darkness as something a little more real and substantial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woods are Lovely, Dark, and Deep

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this in separate chapters, and then I never finished the final chapter and the show went sideways for me, but I finally found some mojo to go back and wrap this piece up with a nice finite ending. Well, sadly, I deleted the original post on AO3 for this story, so here it is: re-posted, re-edited, and completed at last. I really enjoyed this piece, so I wanted to go back and finish it. It's darker than Mabastian's normal fare, and I was kinda disappointed how bland the whole Darkness plot was handled. So, here's a different idea of how it could've been handled! There's a little bit of mildly described violence Bash takes against some brigands in the woods, earning this a Mature rating, but other than that, it's pretty tame. Oh, and it features Possessed!Bash based on a dream I had once. Some of you may remember. ;-)

* * *

 

Mary ran through the forest, always looking over her shoulder, always checking to make sure she was one step ahead of them. She could see them in the distance. They had been preoccupied with killing the driver and the guards that Mary had managed to slip away amidst the turbulence and run off into the woods, but she could only run for so long before her breath gave out, before her legs collapsed from exhaustion beneath her, or before she had to stop for rest, and what would become of her, then? What would become of her if they caught her?

 

The tips of the branches snagged in her hair, yanking painfully on her tresses like tiny, bony fingers. They scratched at her face like merciless nails. Leaves caught in her hair as well, ripping from the branches with sharp cracks, and Mary could hear the twigs on the forest floor snapping beneath her feet as she ran. Her circlet was gone. It had long since fallen from her hair, which was a loose mess all about her shoulders, flying behind her in tangled curls.

 

All of her running, though, and there was no saving her from a thick tree root in the soil, jutting up and catching on her toes. Mary bit back a scream as she fell to the ground, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing her palms for impact.

 

Her palms broke her fall from hurting her upper body, but she collided with the ground all the same, a soaring pain in her ankle. It burned, and when she tried to move it, Mary cried out quietly through her gritted teeth as tears stung her eyes. She didn’t know what she had done to her ankle, but she couldn’t move it.

 

Still, she had to move. She couldn’t stay there.

 

Mary would die if she stayed there. Either they would find her and kill her, have their way with her and then kill her, or the wolves would get to her eventually.

 

Gripping the ground with desperate fingers, Mary pulled herself forward, trying to drag herself. She screamed out because of her efforts, though, the tears spilling freely from her eyes down her cheeks. Her foot was stuck. There was no moving forward from this spot if her foot was caught in the tree root. The sobbing came harder than before until Mary’s whole chest shook with it.

 

 _I don’t want to die_ , Mary thought. _I don’t want to die_. _Please, God, help me_ —

 

As her fingers dug into the wet soil beneath the dead foliage on the ground, she heard the crunch of leaves filling up her ears. A heavy weight of dread settled in her stomach, and Mary slowly lifted her head to look up with tear-stained cheeks.

 

Through her blurry vision, Mary could not see his face, but he was a tall man in dark brown garments of leather and wool with a cloak about his shoulders.

 

He took another step forward, and Mary wanted to reach out to him. She wanted to ask for help, but she didn’t know if he was friend or foe, and she only sobbed harder, clutching at the ground with her tired fingers, because she could not tell, nor could she see his face. Mary wanted to plead with him, but not if he would hurt her. She wasn’t going to plead with a man who didn’t want to hear it.

 

The man slowly extended his hand to her, holding it not far from her face.

 

Mary stared at his hand in horror, and when it hit her that he meant to help her, her face contorted painfully once more as she tried to hold back a harder sob. She took his hand, though, grasping it hard with her muddy fingers. “Help me,” she begged. “Help me, please—”

 

“ _Petra_ _eo?_ ”

 

Mary froze, her hand falling from his grasp as he slowly walked around her. The language he spoke was alien and yet familiar to her, and so was his voice, yet it was not possible. He was in Spain. They sent him to Spain after the wedding. He was not here, not now, walking around Mary and kneeling on the ground beside her, the dead leaves crunching beneath his weight.

 

She felt his hand lightly touch her leg near her ankle. She was wearing stockings, but still she felt his touch. Mary turned to look, but she could not see much, and his body was in the way of her view.

 

He drew a dagger from his belt, though, and Mary felt her heart leap up into her throat.

 

“No, please—” Mary immediately tried to pull away, but her foot was still stuck, and she cried out in pain.

 

He put his hand on her back, pushing down on her to hold her in place.

 

“ _Petra_ _zo ganeoc’h?_ ” he said, turning his head to look down at her. His other hand held the dagger upright, the blade gleaming in the twilight of the forest. He was still speaking in that other language that Mary didn’t understand at all, and she felt tears sting at the back of her eyes once more. “ _Mar plij_.”

 

“Please—” she tried to beg, afraid of what might happen next, afraid of what he might do. Though she had never felt that way about him before, he seemed like a different person out here in the forest than he had ever felt before this moment. She remembered the last moment she had seen him. At the side of the bed during the consummation ceremony, King Henry’s guards had dragged him in, and she had been horrified, but there was no stopping what had already begun. There was no saving him from seeing it. Had he held his torment against her?

 

Would he draw his dagger on her for that?

 

He raised his dagger in the air, though, and Mary felt herself freeze all over as he placed the blade against his palm and slit the skin deep. He rose to his feet, blood dripping from his hand as he chanted in that same guttural language. He walked fast, speaking faster, until he had made a complete circle around her.

 

Then, he knelt before her again, and he held out his hand, palm up to her.

 

Mary bit on her bottom lip, feeling it tremble, but she put her hand in his palm, and Sebastian drew the blade against her hand, slicing it open. He clasped his cut hand to hers, gripping tight, and Mary bit down harder on her lip. Her cut stung, and he began to chant again as Mary squeezed her eyes shut.

 

When he had fallen silent, Mary slowly opened her eyes. His hand still clasped hers, holding it tight, but she noticed that there were little points of golden light filling the air around them in a circle like glowing dust. It rose from the ground, a slow waterfall ascending into the sky. It was stronger on the ground. There was a ring around them, it seemed, glowing bright and gold and thick, almost like a barrier where his blood had fallen onto the leaves around her.

 

Mary turned her shocked gaze to him, and Sebastian brought his free hand to his mouth, placing a single finger against his lips without speaking.

 

Mary heard the footsteps. Her heart panicked, pounding against her ribcage, but she heeded his warning. She did not dare to speak, keeping her lips sealed tight. Too terrified to turn and see anything behind her, Mary stared forward at a point past Sebastian’s head. Stubbornly, she kept her gaze there, even as the group of brigands passed them by, complaining about the girl who had gotten away.

 

“We’ll find her!” one of them assured the rest, and they agreed to split up. Mary barely dared to breathe as they parted ways and set off into the forest, oblivious to her presence right there on the ground with Sebastian. The outlaws seemed to walk right around them, completely avoiding their spot without realizing it.

 

Silently, they waited until all of them were long gone. Mary refused to speak or move until Sebastian did. When he finally let go of her hand and rose to his feet, she exhaled a heavy breath.

 

He circled her again, stopping beside her legs. Mary heard him pick something up from the forest floor, and then he returned to her.

 

He held out a thick stick to her face.

 

Mary stared at it, and then she looked up at him. “I don’t understand—”

 

His eyes. They were not Sebastian’s eyes, she realized. They were different. They seemed to glow, too, an eerie pale color between a wash of green and blue, and they smiled at her without there being a single expression on his face.

 

He extended a finger, touching it lightly to her lip.

 

Mary, terrified and trembling, slowly opened her mouth at his behest. He gently placed the stick between her lips. With that, he opened his own mouth and made a biting down motion. His teeth _clicked_ together, and Mary felt her nerves shake even harder.

 

She bit down on the stick, and he vanished from her sight once more.

 

She felt his hands on her leg again. They were close to her ankle, but higher up. He pulled her towards him, urging Mary to move as much as she could to help him, and Mary tried. She pushed herself back, the opposite direction of the way she had attempted to crawl earlier, and then she felt him grasp her leg hard and yank it free from the tree root. Mary would’ve screamed out had there not been a stick in her mouth for her to clamp down on, but instead, she bit down hard on it to hold back her cries.

 

Her head swam with dizziness, but she was in his arms, and he was carrying her. Not far, for he placed her down beside the trunk of the tree on a bed of fallen and dead leaves, which seemed to cushion her and give her comfort. Mary stared out dazedly as he inspected her ankle, cradling her foot in his lap.

 

He removed both her shoe and her stocking, all of which Mary found no effort to protest against, and then she watched as he cut his thumb this time instead of his hand. He placed his thumb against her ankle, drawing a bloody symbol upon her skin as he chanted beneath his breath. In her dazed state of mind, Mary thought that she saw his thumb leave a glowing trail of golden light in its wake where it touched her, tracing those symbols with his blood.

 

As if in a dream, she still saw the glowing haze of little dust particles floating in the air around them, making a wall that thinned out as it rose higher into the air.

 

It was a strange dream, Mary thought, but beautiful.

 

“Bash,” she called out softly, reaching for him. Her ankle was beginning to hurt less and less with each passing moment, a fading pain that would soon be just a memory. He glanced over at her, still holding her ankle between his hands in his lap. Mary smiled at him, even though it was weak.

 

“Thank you,” Mary whispered, “for helping me . . . ” Her eyes fluttered, though, and her head rolled to the side. “But I’m so tired, Bash . . . I’m so tired . . . ”

 

She felt his hands leave her leg, and then her ankle was no longer in his lap. She did not know where he had gone until she felt his hand upon her forehead. Bash stroked the fallen hair from her face, removing it so that it no longer tickled her, his fingers curling the soft tresses behind her ear.

 

“Sleep, then,” he told her quietly, his kind voice sounding far away, but this time she understood the words he spoke, “and it will all be gone when you wake up.”

 

Mary heeded his words, leaning her cheek into his hand, and let herself slip away from the world into a sea of darkness.

 

* * *

 

The resonance of the forest was alive all around him in a vibrant and unabashed symphony for his ears alone. Crickets chirruped noisily throughout their home among the blades of grass, though some birds added to the song from a distance away, and the wind crept over his shoulder into his ear, whispering to him quite an intriguing notion. The leaves rustled, bugs scurried, and even the stars made a sound as their light pierced through the foliage of the treetops above his head, so he looked up to the beams of light as they furthered the music in the darkness, a sharp-edged sound, like a sword being drawn through the air.

 

He could hear everything in the forest. He always had. He had been born in this forest. He had taken life here. He had known it for much longer than any human, but the boy whose body he had taken had known of it, too. The boy knew of its trails and its paths, and he knew of its trees and its soil, and he knew some of its secrets, too, but he didn’t share them.

 

The boy had locked them down deep and tight, to where even _his_ hand could not reach.

 

His hand did reach out in the dark, though, touching the light before him in the air, caressing a grove with his fingers like a lover might touch another’s hair. The boy in him had touched the girl that way when she reached out for him, the girl’s head lolling back upon the mulch of dead leaves.

 

There was a connection in him, he felt, for the girl. The boy had known her, and she meant a great deal to him. He hardly felt the same way, and yet the urge and the possession to help her had been too strong for him to fight, and so he had, and so he stayed for the night, watching over her, glancing back at her. She slept soundly for the most part, though there was a restless movement to her at times. Whenever she twitched or thrashed in her sleep, he came back to her, kneeling at her side, and touched his thumb to her forehead. He would run it across her skin with a surprising delicacy, sending his strength to calm her and quiet the throes. She would fall still, peacefully, and return to her even breathing.

 

After that, he would return to his perch near her feet, watching the forest like a hawk.

 

He could not leave her here. She would be in danger, and so he waited for her to wake up. When she woke up, he would take her with him. He could not take her back to where she came from. He would not leave the forest and wander so close to their realm. They had taken over the land beyond the trees, but the forest was still his. Beyond the forest, he had no protection. In his world he was stronger. In his world only could he save her.

 

. . . But the urge was not his.

 

It was the heart of the boy deep within, churning like a wheel in the darkness, a pull even a god could not deny. There were some things gods could control, but this was not one of them.

 

No being, divine or mortal, had a sway over such power.

 

He glanced back at her as she slept. She breathed evenly, her hand resting across her middle, her hair strewn out around her head and shoulders. She had turned her face into her hair, her cheek up to the sky, her throat bared. Underneath the starlight, she was beautiful. He could see what the boy saw in her on the surface, but he wondered if there anything deeper on the inside that drew the boy to her. She was beautiful. There was no doubt about that. Her dark hair glistened in the silver cast of the stars, and her pale skin shone as well.

 

His eyes were drawn to the pulse in her throat, a hunter’s instinct taking root. It beat with life beneath her pale flesh, and he stared, entranced by it.

 

Slowly, he crept towards her, reaching out his hand.

 

 _If you harm her_ , warned a voice from within, and he froze suddenly, though he did not bother to look around himself. The voice did not come from the forest. It came from the boy inside of him, still stirring beneath the surface. He still came forward from time to time to speak or act against him. Most of the time, he could suppress the human, but not always. This was, after all, only a mortal shell, and his powers here were only half as strong inside of it.

 

He stared at the girl, though, cocking his head to the side. He withdrew his hand, though, as a sign of peace.

 

“I wasn’t going to harm her,” he admitted calmly out loud, but he knew the boy would still hear him.

 

 _Her blood is not yours to take_ , the boy said.

 

“Deny me,” he warned right back, looking up, “and I might want it more.”

 

 _Leave her be_ , came the boy’s voice, almost pleading this time.

 

“I will keep her safe for you,” he said at last. “As a reward, for your vessel.”

 

_She’s not a prize._

 

“She is,” he countered, lowering his eyes back to the girl, “if you take her.”

 

_Please, do not—_

 

He closed his eyes, though, and the silence came, thick and heavy on his mind. The voice vanished from his head, leaving it with nothingness. Of course, it was just what he had wanted. Silence. Peace. Sometimes the boy spoke too much, and he often complained too much. It irritated him, but he had patience to deal with the boy. The boy had brought him many blessings, and for those many blessings, a few flaws in the design were to be expected. He would forgive them for now.

 

When he opened his eyes again, he no longer heard the boy’s voice speaking to him. He only heard the sounds of the forest communicating with him once more, vibrant and alive. He turned his back towards the girl, facing the trees instead of looking at her. The forest, it was beautiful tonight.

 

He glanced up at the sky, focusing his eyes on a slice of silver light.

 

For now, he would keep the girl with him. He would keep her safe. She would need his protection, and the woods were dark and deep, though they were dark and deep because of his kind and those who served them. The woods themselves were nothing to fear, save for what lived inside of them.

 

The forest was their last refuge, and at the heart of it, they flourished.

 

He would take her with him to the center of the forest, he decided, and make her one of them.

 

* * *

 

When she opened her eyes, Mary could see the morning light gleaming through the rustling leaves above. In her dreams she imagined herself back at the country house on her honeymoon with her husband, laughing and running through the meadows full of flowers with him at her side, but when she looked back at him, she could never see his face. The yellow sunlight blinded her, taking away the features of his face and making him faceless. Then, in her dream she tripped on a hole in the ground, and darkness swallowed the light in the world as she fell into a pit in the center of the earth.

 

As she looked up at the sky, she expected to see her husband as a face came into her view above her, but it was Sebastian’s face. Mary felt her initial shock return to her, and she thought to pull away, but his near blank expression was clouded with concern beneath it. He reached out a hand, hesitantly, towards her forehead without touching her. He looked down at her eyes, waiting.

 

Slowly, Mary nodded her approval.

 

Sebastian laid his hand gently on her forehead. When he didn’t feel what he was looking for, a fever perhaps, he pulled it away. A moment later, he extended his hand for her to grasp. Mary stared at it before she looked up at his face. He still looked different to her. Something was off about his eyes, but she accepted his hand, sliding her fingers over his and curling them together, gripping tight.

 

Sebastian helped her to her feet, but he let go of her hand. Mary glanced down at her ruined gown. She tried her best to straighten it out, and then she brushed off all the leaves and dirt that clung to the fine fabric. It was a mess. She was a mess. Sebastian circled around the area without her. When she noticed, she paused in cleaning her dress to watch him.

 

“Are . . . are there still bandits around?” Mary asked him, afraid of the answer.

 

“No,” he answered her without looking at her, “they’re gone.”

 

His hand was resting on the pommel of his sword, though, and she felt her eyes drawn to it. Sebastian turned around to face her, and Mary looked up to meet his eyes. He looked more like himself this time, and he approached her, holding out his hand.

 

Swallowing past a lump in her throat, Mary accepted his hand.

 

He helped her away from the tree. The ground was uneven, twisted and tangled with large roots jutting out of the forest floor like petrified snakes. The tree Mary had slept under for the night was an enormous and looming figure, a giant in the forest that dwarfed everything around it, even them.

 

Her shoes were not riding shoes. Mary slipped on a pile of leaves, unaware of the hole beneath them, but Sebastian caught her in his arms before she fell. Her arms clutched around his neck, and she breathed in the earthy scent on the collar of his coat. Her fingers curled into the fabric, holding on tight. She looked up at his face to see him gazing at her, a fiercely protective look in his eyes.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked her, and at a loss for words, she nodded her head.

 

Sebastian helped her to regain her footing, and then he took her hand again. He held it lightly, and Mary let him guide the way through the forest. Her ankle felt just fine today. She glanced down at it, lifting her foot and shaking it slightly. A little laugh escaped her lips, which caught Sebastian’s attention. He looked back at her, a curious expression on her face.

 

“My ankle feels brand new,” Mary said out loud. “I had the strangest dream last night . . . ” She had imagined in her dream a golden cloud of rain, falling towards the sky instead of against it, and she remembered his touch upon her ankle. In her dreams he had touched it with his thumb, and the pain went away without a reason or an explanation. His touch and words, spoken gently, had healed her all on their own.

 

“What kind of dream?” Sebastian asked her, an inquisitive expression upon his face.

 

Mary smiled softly at him, looking down at her feet. She shook her head. “It was a silly dream,” she told him. “I must not have hurt it as much as I thought I had . . . ”

 

“You didn’t,” Sebastian confirmed.

 

Mary looked up again. “Bash . . . ” she said, and she paused from walking. She felt him pause, too. “I think the castle is the other way—”

 

It took her some time, but Mary realized they were heading deeper into the forest instead of towards the road. There was something different about him once she called him by his name, though. His hand in hers, for one. His grip felt odd all of a sudden, too stiff and too hard in hers, and then he quickly let go of her hand. Mary noticed him reached for his sword, and she drew back. He was tracker, she remembered, and it all came flooding back to her at once. Bash was a tracker. He was a hunter, and he knew the woods better than anybody she knew in the entire French court.

 

Mary felt herself backing away from him as he drew the sword form its scabbard at his side. Her heart was pounding inside of its chest, and she stumbled over a clustered thicket at her feet. She fell into someone else’s arms, and a knife came up to her throat.

 

“Drop your sword!” the booming voice beside her ear hollered out. “Or we’ll cut her throat!”

 

Bash turned around slowly, his sword still in his hand and a peculiar look in his eyes. Mary realized then that her ridiculous fear had been because of his reaction to noticing other people in the forest. Either he had heard them or saw something nearby, and Mary had interpreted it all wrong in a matter of seconds. Bash knew the area so well. He must have known in what direction he was taking her, and it might have been a way she was unfamiliar with.

 

Her doubt had spooked her, though, and sent her into the arms of a bandit. Now, there was a knife against her throat. Mary stiffened all over. The stench of wine reached her nose, and she grimaced against the awful smell.

 

“Let her go,” Bash said calmly, looking directly at her attacker. The man pressed the blade harder into her neck in response.

 

“Drop your sword, boy,” the man said, chuckling.

 

There were other men, too. They all chuckled. Mary could hear them all, and her lip trembled with terror. Bash could not fight them all. He was only one person, and even Bash was not so skilled as to be able to take on a whole group of armed men in the woods. They were men who robbed and raided for a living. Bash had lived a comfortable life compared to them.

 

Bending his knees slightly, Bash lowered his arm. He dropped his weapon to the grass, and slowly, he stood back up.

 

“Will you let her go now?” Bash asked them, and they all chuckled again.

 

Suddenly, the man withdrew his blade and shoved her forward. Mary stumbled, lost her footing, and fell to the ground. Her palms broke her fall, and she heard such screams break out all around her, filling her ears with the screeching agony of a thousand men dying—only it wasn’t a thousand men.

 

There was only six or seven of them. Maybe ten at the most, but it sounded like a whole army being slaughtered.

 

Mary crawled forward to get away, but she looked over her shoulder and saw no one there. Terrified, she looked up.

 

They were dangling high in the air, hands around their throats as if clutching at invisible nooses around their necks. Mary’s hands gave out beneath her in shock, and she fell over onto her back upon the wet grass. Beneath their grasping hands, their throats opened up, and blood gushed forth down their chests, soaking their dirty shirts and falling to the forest floor below.

 

Mary opened her mouth and screamed, scrambling backwards on the grass. Her hands slipped on the damp blades, and she fell more often than she moved away from the horrifying sight above her. The man in the middle, a rotund figure with a big belly, struggled the most. Mary saw a deep red slash, so dark it was almost black, appear across his stomach on his stained white shirt. It was blood soaking into the fabric out of a deep wound, she soon realized. A black mass protruded forward, and when she realized it was his insides coming out, Mary rolled onto her stomach to avoid witnessing it. She meant to close her eyes, too, but across the distance of brilliant green grass and towering, dark trees, she saw Bash as he stood tall without a weapon in hand, and what he was doing made her stop.

 

His arms were raised up halfway up into the air. His hands were clenched tight, knuckles white, but running red with blood between the fingers. He chanted in that guttural, foreign language once more, but his eyes were not Bash’s eyes.

 

They were the eyes of something else.

 

Suddenly, all the screams stopped as a shower of heavy rain fell from the sky. Mary dipped her head, shutting her eyes, flinching as it fell upon her. But it was not rain that fell from above, she knew. Her whole body began to quake. She was utterly horrified and unwilling to move, her nails digging deeply into her palms.

 

When a gentle hand touched her shoulder, she flinched again.

 

No matter how gentle the touch, Mary was terrified, and no amount of soothing gestures would calm the quaking of her nerves. At least, so she thought, but the hand was on her hair next, and its gentle caress seemed to help lessen the horror.

 

“Mary,” Bash urged her softly. “Mary, it’s all right. They’re gone.”

 

Only they weren’t gone because they walked away, Mary told herself. They were gone because he killed them, but Bash was not capable of such things. Mary did not know what she saw, but it wasn’t normal and it wasn’t human, and Bash was not capable of them.

 

Her dreams from last night came back to her, though, of the golden light and his healing touch, and Mary remembered snagging her foot in the tree root. Her foot had been injured by it, and yet today it felt fine. It dawned on her in that moment how it hadn’t been just a dream. It had been real, and she had attributed it all to her imagination because the reality was too unnatural. It was real, though. It had happened, and it was not just a dream.

 

Slowly, Mary lifted her head from the ground to look at him.

 

His eyes were kind and soft yet again. They were Bash’s eyes, and his expression made it very clear that he would never harm her.

 

“You’re safe,” Bash assured her.

 

Still, Mary could not keep the question from her lips. “Why did you kill them?”

 

He looked perplexed, uncomprehending. “They threatened you,” he said. “They were going to hurt you.”

 

“You didn’t have to _kill_ them like that—”

 

A look of horror crossed his face. “Should I have let them?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Mary said, feeling her eyes water with tears, “but that . . . that was . . . ”

 

Bash leaned closer to her, placing his finger just below her chin. “Necessary,” he finished with conviction, and he gently stroked his thumb across her cheek. “No one will ever harm you while I am around. I will never let them. They will never get a second chance to do it. Once is enough.”

 

It hurt her to hear him say these things. It was meant to be gallant and noble, but it scared Mary. “Bash . . . ” she tried to say, but he cut her off.

 

He laid his hand over hers. “Let me help you to your feet,” he said.

 

“ _Bash_ ,” Mary insisted, even though she let him take her hand and help her to her feet. When she stumbled, he held her hand tight and put his other hand on her waist to catch her. Mary found herself in his arms, but she felt safe despite it all. It was a strange feeling, and one she couldn’t reconcile at all. “How did you . . . how did you do those things?”

 

She would be screaming and running, she thought, but something unnatural and unspoken grounded her in place. It told her she could trust him somehow, and Mary believed it despite all of her natural instincts telling her _to run_.

 

“I will explain it to you later,” Bash told her. “When we have time.”

 

Mary glanced down at her dress suddenly, and seeing herself covered in blood made her stomach churn as she recalled its origin. She stumbled, but Bash caught her again. She was still in his arms, and he held her carefully.

 

“I’m covered in blood,” she said aloud, sounding dazed. Her head swam with an overwhelming sensation of dizziness, but Bash held onto her firmly despite her faltering steps.

 

“There’s a river not far from here,” Bash said. “It leads to a lake. I’ll take you there, and you can wash in private.”

 

Mary found herself clutching at his shirt with both hands. “Bash, I want to go _home_ —” she insisted, remembering how he had been taking her in a different direction than the way she had come into the forest.

 

“I _am_ taking you home,” he said with conviction. “It’s just a different way, but it leads around the forest through the deeper part of it, where there are no people. It will be safer that way for us to travel. I don’t want this to happen again. If we take the way towards the road, it will happen again. Do you understand?”

 

Mary stood still for a moment, but then she nodded her head at his words. “Yes, I understand,” she whispered. Her grip on his shirt loosened, and he took her by the hands.

 

“Can you walk?” he asked. “Do you need me to carry you?”

 

“I can walk,” Mary said, but when she moved her feet, they felt loose beneath her. She lost her balance, and Bash had to catch her again. Her head still swam in a sea of dizzy fog, and she felt Bash wrap one arm around her back and put the other arm beneath her legs. He scooped her up effortlessly, toting her like a child in his arms as he walked through the forest.

 

Mary kept one arm around his neck and laid her head against his shoulder. Her other hand rested against his chest on his shirt, and she gripped at the old, frayed fabric. Still, it was comforting in her fingers, no matter how dirty it was.

 

Bash was still her friend, she thought, and she still loved him as well. He would take care of her, and he would see her safely home as he had promised her. Mary knew of all things she could trust Bash on that.

 

Above her, Mary heard Bash as he began to hum a tune she was unfamiliar with, but the gentle vibrations in his chest relaxed her. She nestled into the crook of his neck, though she didn’t fall asleep. It was like a trance, and it was comforting, so Mary did not question it.

 

Anything to help her rest, she thought as she closed her eyes, was welcome.

 

* * *

 

The branches hung low all around him, sheltering the view of the waterfall from his place high upon the hill. It was a small pond rather than a lake, and all of its borders except one were enclosed with rising land covered in moss. He had lied, promising her privacy, and watched her from afar. She had stripped down to her undergarments, a long linen gown the color of cream, before she walked beneath the small waterfall that fell onto black rocks at the foot of the cave. There, she let the water soak her gown through and through, washed her hair, though she had no soap, and cleansed herself under the cool falls.

 

Her linen gown was thin and light, and the water saturated each thread. It clung to her body, revealing her shapely form beneath, but his interest was not in that way. She was beautiful like a marble statue carved out of smooth ivory, a work of art to his eyes. He appreciated her for her qualities as well as her beauty in a form above mortal longings.

 

 _She would make a fine queen by my side_ , he thought, entertaining the concept more and more deeply with each passing moment.

 

The boy was thankfully no longer bothering him, but he had exercised too much of his power to calm Mary from the sight she had seen in the woods that he was weaker than before. He would have to hold off on using anymore magic for now. His human vessel was not so strong as to be able to keep it up. He had managed to calm her for the time being, but what if she grew frightened again? What if she remembered what she had seen him do? What if she asked more questions?

 

 _What if she ran?_ he asked himself, narrowing his eyes at Mary as she stepped out from under the waterfall. She wrung out the water from her hair, walking over to the rest of her clothes. Mary began to twist her linen gown between her hands as well. She wouldn’t get it completely dry, but he imagined she would rather leave a wet gown on than strip completely naked before redressing.

 

Pulling back from the branches where he watched her, he turned away from her to make his way down the hill.

 

He took his time fetching wood for a fire. He couldn’t immediately show up once she was done bathing. It would give him away, so he took his time. He gathered an armful of dry twigs and branches and returned to the waterfall.

 

What he found there, though, was nothing.

 

She was gone.

 

“Mary?” he called out, looking around hesitantly. If she was still nearby, he did not want to look like a fool for dropping everything and running immediately to look for her, but there was no answer to his call. The heap of dead branches fell from his grasp, clattering to the dark rocks near the pond’s shore, and he dashed off into the woods.

 

He was a hunter first and foremost, and he had spent his whole existence on this earth as one. His skills of tracking in the woods were better than any human. He found her within a matter of a few minutes. She was running, running to escape him.

 

Despite his attempts to make her forget or to at least not question what she saw in the forest, she remembered what he did to the group of bandits that happened upon them. There was no easy way out of this now. She knew he wasn’t her old friend or lover or whatever they were, and she sensed the danger about him. She was also an intelligent woman if she didn’t even bother questioning him face to face. Instead, when he wasn’t looking, she took the first opportunity to run.

 

As her foot caught on a root in the ground, Mary tripped and fell, scrambling her fingers against the ground to push herself back up, but he was already there. He grasped her arms and pulled her upright. All the while, Mary struggled, kicked, and hollered at him.

 

“Let me go!” she shouted, her voice trembling and her body shaking. “ _Let me go!_ ”

 

“Mary, what is _wrong_ with you?” he hissed at her. “You’ll get hurt out here on your own. You need my help to get back—”

 

“You’re not _Bash_!” Mary hollered, pulling so hard against his grip that she loosed herself enough to turn her back away from him. They were now face to face, and there were tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were red, her face in anguish. He stared at her in shock. He did not let go, and she started to cry in earnest.

 

“You’re afraid of me,” he said slowly, gauging the situation.

 

Mary shook her head. “You’re not Bash,” she repeated. “You’re not him. I _know_ you’re not him. I can see it in your face. The things you can do, they’re de—” She choked on the final word, looking away from him. He waited to see if she would say anything else, but she didn’t go further. She cast her iron gaze to the ground, fearful of his reaction.

 

“Hmm,” he said. “Well, there’s no point in pretending, is there?”

 

Trembling, Mary looked up at him again. “Who are you?” she whispered. Then, a little more hesitantly, “ _What_ are you?”

 

He stared at her, silent at first. There was some part of him, though, that wanted to shout his own name from the tops of the mountains, letting all of France know that he was here, that he had never left them. He never used to be secretive. He never had to be in the past. He had been worshipped once. He had been revered once, but now he was a scavenger, an outcast, and a shell of his former self.

 

He had once been a part of the light, but they had isolated him in the darkness, forever altering his nature.

 

“They called me Vindonno,” he revealed quietly to her. “Some said Vindonnus, but it is one and the same. I was once the guardian of these woods. They were _my_ woods, and I watched over them and its people. I was a hunter, and the light was my blessing to my people. I could heal them, if they asked, if they prayed, if they sacrificed, but you I healed because I wanted to. You, I found because I wanted to.”

 

Her trembling stopped until her whole body was still. Mary stared up at him, her dark eyes wide and flooded with disbelief at war with her fear.

 

“Are you . . . are you a devil?” Mary asked, the words barely a whisper on the wind. As she blinked her eyes, a single tear fell down her cheek.

 

He watched as the tear slid lower, and then he gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He leaned forward slowly, catching the tear with his lips against her skin. She was frozen in place. She did not move. She did not scream or push at him, nor did she turn away. As he pulled back from her, he gently ran his thumb across her chin.

 

“No,” he told her quietly, “I was once a god.”

 

Mary continued to stare him, her eyes singing of pure disbelief.

 

“But,” he said softly, “I’m not sure what I am anymore . . . ”

 

Slowly, his hand crept up to the back of her hair. Without warning, he slammed her head against the tree beside them, knocking her out cold. He was too weak at the moment to keep using his magic, so he would have to settle for old-fashioned violence to do the trick. She fell limp in his grasp, and he caught her before she hit the ground.

 

Scooping her up into his arms, he carried her effortlessly into the darkness of the forest. The trees grew thicker, and the sun began to set below the horizon.

 

In the heart of the woods, there lay a deep grove in which his altar stood.

 

Very soon, she would be laid upon it.

 

* * *

 

Mary awoke to hard stone underneath her back and a pounding sensation in her head. As her eyelids fluttered open, the orange glow of torchlight flickered at the corner of her vision. She tried to move, but found the tight bond of ropes holding her in place.

 

She was bound from head to toe on a cold stone slab.

 

Panic surged through her veins, and Mary struggled against the ropes. With the note of a familiar voice lilting on the air like smoke, she fell still.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” the thing said slowly, sounding like Bash—even looking like Bash, but he wasn’t Bash. Mary knew the difference now more than ever. As his hand reached out to caress her cheek, she turned away from it. His voice spoke his displeasure, but he still withdrew his hand. “You will be stronger after this. You will be more magnificent than you are even now, and you can stay . . . ” He walked around the slab until they were face to face again, and it tore at her heart to see Bash’s face on this creature. When she blinked, she felt the hot tears pour down the corners of her eyes.

 

“Bash,” Mary pleaded, knowing somehow she could commune with the man she knew inside. “Bash, I know you can hear me. I know you wouldn’t do this to me. I know you’re _in_ there—”

 

“Enough,” he said, drawing out a dagger etched with old runes. It looked ancient like it was almost stone instead of steel. Mary’s heart quickened inside her chest.

 

“Bash,” she cried out, her voice rising, and she heard him as he began to chant and walk around the slab. He sliced his hand, dripping blood around the altar as he spoke in a foreign tongue that she could not understand. “Bash, please, for the love you bear for me and the love I _still_ bear for you—”

 

Those words seemed to silence the man and halt him amidst his walk around the slab she was laid upon. When Mary lifted her head to look, she noticed his eyes were different this time—they looked like Bash’s eyes, and she smiled against all of her fears because maybe she had gotten through to him.

 

Bash looked at her in horror, at the stone slab, and the dagger in his hand. Lifting it up, he slammed it into his own shoulder and a howl left his throat as his head flew back. Mary wasn’t certain what happened next. He fell to the ground, and she cried out as she tried once more to struggle out of her restraints. The ropes were bound too tight, though, and the knots were firm.

 

A moment passed, and a hand grasped the edge of the slab. Mary screamed and moved away from it, afraid that the other thing had come back and not Bash. But when he raised his head into her view, it was most certainly Bash. Mary gasped, allowing herself to breathe, as Bash struggled with a grimace to stand.

 

He yanked the blade out of his shoulder and nearly fell over her, but caught his balance on the slab. He cut her bonds, lifting her from the stone, and helped her to her feet.

 

“You have to get away from here,” Bash told her, each word taxing him more. “I can tell you how to get to safe ground. I’m not so sure he’s gone—”

 

“Do you feel him?” Mary asked. “If he were there still, you would feel him.”

 

Bash scrunched up his face. “No, I don’t think so, but it’s not safe to risk it—”

 

“I can’t travel on my own, Bash,” Mary said, reaching out for his hand. Grasping it, she clutched it tightly within her own. “Please, come with me. He has not been you this whole time, so whatever you did, you got rid of him. I know it.” As the thought crossed her mind, she asked, “How did this . . . _thing_ come to possess you?”

 

Bash swallowed, his throat bobbing. “The pagans in the woods, the ones who follow the Darkness. Who believe in it. They took me as a sacrifice, but it was a different type of sacrifice. I became possessed with something. Most of the time, I don’t remember anything, but there are bits and pieces that come back to me.” He squeezed her hand back. “When you said what you did, your words reached out to me, and I heard them. I’ve been more myself with you around him as if I could hear your voice and it called out to me. And I remembered this knife. They used it on me when they first turned me, so I thought if I used it again, maybe it would reverse what had happened . . . ”

 

Mary reached out for his cheek, overwhelmed with sadness. “How long have you been like this?”

 

His eyes closed as he leaned into her touch. They reopened to look at her. “Since I meant to leave for Spain. We were ambushed before we reached the ship, and they took me. I think they remembered me from before.” Bash exhaled a shaky breath. “The castle’s far, but perhaps you would prefer to go there. I can take you home.”

 

He doesn’t say his brother’s name, hanging like a weight between them both.

 

Mary raised her chin, steeling her gaze against his. “I would prefer to stay with you for now.”

 

Bash seemed to admire her courage and her belief that he was safe. He surveyed their surroundings carefully. “Let’s leave now, then, before any of his followers return . . . ”

 

He took her hand and led her through the woods, the air soggy with dew drops and the leaves a soft crunch beneath their feet, but they hurried as fast away as their feet could carry them, and they never looked back.

 

 


End file.
